Years ago, a climber passed through Rifle who was one of the most obnoxiously strong and boastful climbers I’d ever met. He literally did the meme: how do you know a Rifle climber sent his project? He’ll tell you.

I once saw him go down the row of people belaying at a crag, stopping to tell every single one of them, “I sent Waka Flocka today.”

I have a well-documented allergy to climbers congratulating themselves for sending their projects, but what’s even worse than this Rifle douche are those who do it in a way that feels like a thinly veiled humblebrag. It’s the performed modesty that irks me more than anything else, which is a funny irony that, I admit, I do not fully understand. I suppose it’s a matter of honesty. I’d rather see people just be themselves, even if who they are is little more than a narcissistic tool, than put on a pretense of fake humility.

Social media is a crucible for this kind of deranged self-expression, and nowhere is this trend better demonstrated in climbing than in green-check culture. You’ve seen this move: someone posts a novel about their six months trying a route — the doubt, the beta refinement, their struggles with self-acceptance, or the systemic forces of injustice holding them back — and then, right at the end, almost as an afterthought, they drop the name of the climb, the grade, and a little green check mark. ✅. Done. Sent.

Barf, dude. You’re dropping the green check in there like it isn’t the entire point of the post. You want to be too cool to care about sending, but aren’t you just as bad as the Rifle douche getting up in everyone’s grills and telling them that he sent Waka Flocka?

Earlier this year, I saw Will Bosi — who is up there working on Silence, the hardest route on earth — post a green check mark after sending just the crux. Not the whole route. He green-checked 15 feet of a 150-foot rock climb.

That’s when I thought, OK, the green check mark has officially jumped the shark.

But then I caught myself doing what I do to avoid the vulnerability of expressing a genuine emotion. The critical eye-rolling. The running commentary on what is or isn’t authentic. The need to have a sharp take on people’s posts. I’m self-aware enough to know that this kind of cynicism is cheap armor, even if I can’t help myself from having this kind of reaction. People like me who are scared to be vulnerable love to project our insecurities onto those who are willing to put themselves out there.

I think there is something cool about people like Will celebrating their small wins, even if it takes the form of a stupid little green check emoji. And honestly, doing that crux by itself is probably worthy of a green check. V16 or something. Some of the most fucked up beta I’ve ever seen. What’s even crazier is that Ondra figured out the exact best way to do that crux, move for move; that’s how Bosi is going to do it, too. And why not take that moment to share the process with people like me, who like to follow along online. Knowing Will Bosi is going back right now to keep chipping away at Silence has me psyched to hear the news for the day when he finally sends.

All this got me thinking about my own year. Because I had a bunch of these moments — small, private, unglamorous victories. I got my fitness back to somewhere I actually respect. I started one-hanging routes that were 10 hangs before. I’d feel stupid green-checking something like “found an actual balance between work, family, sleep, and stress,” but to be completely genuine for a moment, I am really proud of some of those little progressions I’ve made.

Little wins are a foundation for the big green checks, after all. Are they spray worthy? Definitely not, but I don’t need a green check to know this was a good year of climbing, even if nothing I did would make it onto anyone’s feed.